Coming Back Tomorrow
by MiaCharlize
Summary: Sofia is taking her own advice but finds it not very helpful. Sofia darkness for now, slowly getting lighter in the progress.
1. Chapter 1

Spoilers for "A Bullet Runs Through It" (though I've only read the transcript, haven't seen it yet)

For Tina because I love you.

* * *

„_You go home. You, uh ... hug your cat, your dog, your pillow.  
You have a beer, you watch a movie, and then you come back tomorrow."_

That is what she told Greg one day. That is what she usually does. That is what she tried today.

Sometimes it does help getting the images out of her mind. But sometimes it doesn't. Today it definitely doesn't.

She keeps seing the dead officer, keeps seeing her own failure.

The cat is stroking its head against her hand, she absently strokes back, staring at her beer.

She's given up on the movie a long time ago, its weak humor could do nothing to distract her.

What ifs invade her mind, every second of the day is displaying in front of her mind's eye. A constant film in all angles and vivid coloration. She flinches at the imaginary sound of gun shots. Her memory blurs more and more the harder she tries to form a clear picture.

Beer, guilt, lonliness – combined to cause a headache. Tears fall. Slowly at first, reluctant, that's when she is still trying to hold them back.

The cat nudges her arm once more, the final straw breaks, that's when she lets them roll.

She's sobbing, weeping. For the officer's life, for her own fear, her guilt, for not knowing where she went wrong or how she could have stopped this all from happening.

It's driving her insane. She wants to scream, stop thinking, stop feeling.

The cat jumps off her lap, away from her. Now, all alone, the only thing left is her beer. She doesn't feel like drinking, knows it won't help. But she does, for lack of alternatives.

She talks about it, to herself, thinking it's pathetic but then again, it's what she always does, talking to herself. So she keeps talking, talks and talks and talks, cries in between, then whispers, her voice more and more strained. Until she falls asleep.

When she wakes her head throbbs painfully, her stomach rebels against the beer, wishing instead for solid food. But she feels too empty to eat. Defeatedly she settles back down onto the uncomfortable couch.

She can't take it anymore.

Angrily she sits, pulls her hair into a ponytail and scrambles to her feet.

She's driving to the lab, knowing it might have consequences for her investigation, it might affect her whole career. But she can't bring herself to care. She has to see another human, someone she can talk to, someone who responds. She glances at the cat, rolled into a tight ball in the corner, and closes the door behind her.

The glass doors of the Las Vegas Crime Lab glint in the setting sun. She inhales deeply, needing to calm down. One last time she shuts her eyes to collect herself, then exits the car and walks up to the entrance.

She'd gone home, hugged her cat, had more than a beer and attempted to watch a movie. Now she was coming back.


	2. Chapter 2

She enters the building, looking for Grissom. Funny, she thinks, how she's been working in this place for so long and still doesn't have any real friends there other than him.

She looks in his office and leaves a message when she find's he is out. She has at least enough common sense not to wander the halls and be seen.

So she waits. In the creepily lit office, standing next to a row of jars filled with weird creatures both dead and alive. They tend to creep most visitors out but she has gotten used to the sight. What actually makes her skin crawl is the one image that persistantly stays in her mind- her bullet hitting officer Bell.

She's startled from her musing when she hears a deep voice muttering something unintellegible.

"Hey" she forces a smile, gaining his attention.

"I left you a couple of messages" as if to accuse him of deliberately ignoring her, a fear that is more acute than she'd like to admit.

"Oh, yeah ... I haven't gotten to them yet. Sorry." she shakes her head at his Grissomness. "You're on administrative leave, though. You should be home getting some rest." His typical approach to any situation, logical, analytical, detached. She shouldn't have been expecting anything else.

"Yeah," she smiles weakly, "I tried. But I ... can't stop thinking about this ... this Bell shooting."

He offers a simple "It's understandable." She really shouldn't have expected more.

But she has to get this off her chest, has to tell him that maybe, maybe it was all her fault. "Grissom, I think there may be a possibility that maybe ... I shot him."

At least he reacts, looks -if only slightly- surpised.

"Sofia ..." It's not a safe topic, they should not have this conversation. "we can't discuss the investigation."

She interrupts, she needs to say this, feels he has to hear it. "It's, it's something I remembered when I was giving my statement." she tells him, stepping closer so he can see the desperation in her eyes.

"Then it's already on the record." he needs to keep the distance. Otherwise they could both get into trouble.

"No, something I didn't mention." she tries to make him understand. Walking toward the desk, toward him.

"Sofia ..." she won't be cut off like this.

"Please listen to me. Bell was between me and the suspect. I was shooting over his cover, which is a violation of policy." She sees it clearly, hears the shots. Remembers. "I was, I was just trying to stay alive. But if I did it, I ..."

"Hey, Grissom, I have a question." A voice interrupts before she gets to finish. Sara, head down, engulfed in a file, enters the room. When she looks up her eyes meet Sofia's.

"Sofia?" her gaze turns to Grissom, questioning. "You're on administrative leave." She's more than surprised at the sight of the detective. It's her instant reflex to tell her off.

"I know." Sofia defends herself.

"You should not be in this building." Harsh words, but true, all three of them know. To Sofia they sound hostile and she's overcome by the strong need to justify herself.

"I was just talking to a friend." She spits out in an equal tone of voice. "If I can't talk to a friend, who the hell am I supposed to talk to?" She directs her words at the other woman who calmly holds her gaze before answering.

"Any friend outside the department." She doesn't mean to sound rude but to Sofia she does.

"And how many friends outside of work do you have, Sara?" She's angry now, irrational, but she needs to vent. "Maybe I should go talk to my mother. Oh, no, sorry. I forgot. She's a cop, too." The harsh truth of her statement makes her want to cry. There was no-one.

"I can recommend a departmental psychologist." Sara suggests in an annoingly calm manner. She knows how it feels to have nobody who will listen. The look Sofia sends her is full of despair. A psychologist is the last thing she needs. All she craves is a friend. But Grissom cannot fulfil that need and surely Sara won't offer her service.

The pain tightens in Sofia's chest. On the inside she's giving up, she takes one last look at Grissom, maybe hoping for support, support she knows she won't receive from him. Rejectedly she shakes her head, "All right, then. This was a really bad idea. I'm sorry." Then turns to leave.

She doesn't look back, doesn't wait for reactions. They are going to talk about her. Nothing she needs to hear.

She passes Greg in the halls, but brushes by him before he can say a word.

She needs to get away. Out of this place. She can't go home where the images will follow her, haunt her. But she can't stay here either.

Pulling shut the door of her car she takes a moment to consider where to go.


	3. Chapter 3

She doesn't know where she's going but it doesn't take long before she feels the walls come closing in on her. The silence inside the car is painful and increases the impression of the small place shrinking in itself with every passing second.

She needs to get out.

She pulls up on the side of the street and moves to the backseat where she keeps her gym bag. It's fairly desertet out here, wherever that may be, so she sees no problem in changing right next to her car. A lucky soul might have caught a glimpse of a half naked Sofia but chances for that are slim.

Once changed she locks the vehicle and heads off, destination unknown -it doesn't matter anyway.

So she runs, tries to flee from the images that have haunted her all the way out here.

Bell. Shot. Falling. Her gun, her fault.

She runs faster.

Bell, from another angle. Facing her as he is shot. Falls. Still her gun. Still her fault.

She runs faster, starts counting down a list of her favourite songs, anything to distract herself. It works up until number three, then Bell comes back, turns, is shot, falls. Her bullet, right through his vest.

She's panting, hard, has lost track of time and direction. Exhaustedly she slumps down on a patch of grass and takes a look around. Her eyes squint in the sun as she assesses the neighbourhood. Everything looks peaceful and perfect to her, so unlike the Vegas she's used to.

There are children playing in the frontyards, an old lady walking with a dog. On the opposite side a young couple holding hands -life like it's supposed to be.

She doesn't belong here, feels very out of place. So when her breathing has slowed down she gets up on her feet and trots down the direction she believes she came from. All she concentrates on is remembering where she left the car. And for a few minutes there is no Bell on her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I took most of this from a script I found, sorry if it doesn't match the original scene in all places, haven't seen it yet...

* * *

It takes her a good hour to finally arrive back at her car and when she's there she drives straight home and falls onto her bed. She is too tired to worry about what happened. Too tired to think about the shooting. Too tired to care that she hasn't even taken a shower. In fact she is so tired that she is asleep before she can even pull the covers up over herself.

Her sleep is restless though and she soon finds herself tangled in a mess of sweaty jogging clothes, bedsheets and her cat, staring at the ceiling.

She sighs and rolls over, startling the furball by her side who promptly jumps off the bed to find a place more quiet. She sighs again, drags herself up and staggers to the bathroom.

A quick shower and slight shade of make-up make her feel human at last, her grumbling stomach adds to that by telling her she needs food, urgently.

She grabs some cothes and her keys from the hallway table. In passing her eyes catch the empty hoster and in a flash everything comes back to her. She shakes her head. This has to stop, she decides. She has to let it out somewhere.

Since the meeting with Grissom has gone disatrous at best she considers calling someone she knows will understand -Brass.

The phone only rings once before the detective's deep voice is heard.

"Um, hey." she starts, unsure of how to ask for his support without actually asking. "It's me, Sofia."  
"Hey, how're you holding up?" He asks gently. She knows he's not as hard on the inside as he lets on but the concern in his voice surprises her.

"I...I'm on my way to get some food and I kinda needed to talk to someone, so..."  
He doesn't let her finish, just asks for the place and tells her he'll meet her there.

"Thanks" she mutters before the line goes dead.

At the diner she finds herself a seat and orders some breakfast. She's not too sure her stomach can handle much, but her brain tells her she needs to try. It's been too long since she last ate.

When the waitress disappears she turns to stare out the window. Everything is so ordinary yet she feels it's all surreal. Nothing is ever ordinary when you have killed a person.

"Hey" Brass interrupts her musing as he sits down at her table. She takes in his appearance. He doesn't look well rested either.

"I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you." He tells her, holding eye contact so she can see the worry on his face.

"Good." she smiles grimly, "Yeah, I wasn't sure" and she still isn't really sure -of anything.

"How you doing?" he asks, hoping to keep her talking.

"I've gone a little crazy" she confesses with an awkward smile.

"Yeah, It's the waiting."  
"Yeah."

So far they're not really going anywhere. Brass feels the need to console her, make her feel better, take away her guilt. He wants to erase that withdrawn expression from her face.

"You know, I've been suspended or disciplined like six or seven times and it's always the same, the waiting. What you never forget is that you know a police officer lost his life."

Sofia nods. She knows he understands. She knows he cares.

"I've seen it so many times, I don't know if it's real or not." she pauses briefly, collecting her thoughts. "Jim, it's like he's looking at me, like, as if he...as if he _knew._" she hopes she's making sense even if she feels like she doesn't. Brass seems to get it though.

"Sofia," he adresses her, needing her to see the importance of what he wants to say "You got to get it out of your head. That's poison."

"You telling me you're not thinking about it?" she snaps.

"Oh I am thinking. I'm thinking about a lot of stuff." he knows how it feels, being stuck on these thoughts. He knows how hard it is to stop these mini horror movies inside one's head.

Sofia's gaze zooms in onto the tv monitor on the counter, her eyes are fixed on the newscast. _An officer killed_. _Cross-fire_. Brass takes a sip of his coffee. Those words are bad for her, the pictures even more so, he needs to take them off her mind.

"Let me tell you something. You know, when I was a young cop in Jersey there was this kid, responded to an all shots fired. Never got a radio call, never knew what hit him. I was the first officer on the scene, a patrolman, too. You know, it tore up the department pretty good. Everybody was all twisted and... but we managed somehow to... I don't know, get through it someway."

She has watched him tell his story intedly. He should have expected her question.

"Who shot him?"

He doesn't tell her what she thinks she needs to hear, he tells her what he thinks she needs to hear.

"It really doesn't matter."

But Sofia is not one to give in easily. "It does matter" she decides. "I could see Bell's face when I was shooting him, which means I was... I was shooting near him. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have fired." She won't cry, Brass knows that, but he can see the wetness, her desperation, her guilt.

"No, come on. It was chaos, you were just responding to a situation. It was instinct. It was training." He tries to reason with her. They can't even be sure it was her fault. She needs to keep from destructing herself like that.

"No. Don't. Don't think that way." How badly she want's to believe him, believe she wasn't responsible. She can't.

"I'm always gonna be the cop who shot a cop."

Brass sighs. It'll be a lot of work to make her think otherwise. And deep inside he's afraid. She might just be right.

"Sofia," he tries again, unwilling to give up on her. If he does not catch her he doesn't know who will. "You gotta think outside that box, okay? If it was really your bullet that hit Bell it still doesn't mean it was your fault. It was an accident. Things like that happen. We need to deal with that and move on." She looks up at him as if to disagree. "But" he continues before she can open her mouth, "the investigation hasn't yet been closed, so please. Don't beat yourself up over facts that have not even been proven."

"I..." whatever it was she wanted to say, she lets the words hang in the air. She can't really say anything. It's pointless. Brass won't let her sulk over it but in the end he won't convince her either.

So she smiles. Thanks him for his comfort. It didn't help much but her gratitude is genuine nevertheless.

"If there's anything..." he offers. "I know, thank you. But I guess I'll just go home, try to sleep some more." She waves for the tab and he takes it as a sign for him to depart. She will get through, he has faith in that. She's strong.

When Sofia goes to bed this time she is still tired, just not enough to fall asleep. She looks the apartment up and down for her pet. Finally she finds her underneath the kitchen table and picks her up. She doesn't want beer, or a movie. But the comfort of soft breathing in her ears will hopefully help her finding some peace.


	5. Chapter 5

She wakes to the sound of her doorbell ringing. Scrambling to her feet she wonders who it might be, curses when she remembers her gun is in lock up, then chides herself for contemplating the use of it. There's a knock, someone's getting impatient.

"Hold on, I'm coming" she shouts, fazed at the hoarseness of her own voice.

She spies through the peephole and is shocked at the who she sees. She opens the door, revealing the lanky form of Sara Sidle standing just a few steps ahead of her.

"Hi," the brunette greets. All confused Sofia doesn't manage anything beyond "Hi yourself."

Questions are plastered across her features but she's unable to form words. So she stares at her visitor, awaiting an explanation.

It doesn't matter that they are standing in the doorway, she's in no state to let the other woman enter. Not if she came for more bullshit psychologist advice, not if she came to take pity on her, not if...what if she came to tell her they've proven her guilty? That it was her gun, that she indeed shot Bell? Sofia staggers, her head spinning, her knees weak. Sara reaches out for her. Steadies her arm, eyes her with concern.

"Can I come in?" she askes, "You should sit down" Sit down? That usually means bad news, a part of Sofia's brain registers, but in reality, she wasn't expecting good news in the first place.

Despite herself she allows Sara to lead her inside, close the door behind them and lead them to the living room. Sitting down Sofia's cat approaches them, curiously investigating the unfamiliar visitor. That gives Sofia time to collect herself and when Sara reaches her hand to the purring cat she seizes the moment to question her presence.

"Not to sound rude, but what brings you here?" Sara looks up. "Several things" she says in a non-answer, continuing to pet the furball by her feet. "Does she have a name?" she asks as if the other question had been answered. Sofia is confused, and angry. But she plays along, not receiving the answer she wants, she won't provide one of her own. "How do you know it's a she?" she challenges.

"Just a guess," Sara shrugs "So?"

They're both quiet.

"Eleanor." she speaks up finally "Now, what about those several things?" Sara is tempted to ask about the unusual name but senses it's not the time. Sofia wants answers, needs answers, so that is what she will get.

"We reenacted the scene." She can see the suspense on Sofia's face, how she's afraid and how she's angry that she didn't tell her immideately. And there's confusion. She might have suspected Grissom to come with the news, or Ortega, Brass, anyone.

"It wasn't you" the most pressing piece of information at first.

"You'll be cleared, they should contact you soon." she looks at the blonde, detached, confused, relieved, and still full of questions unanswered. "Actually I wasn't supposed to tell you, Grissom wanted to report his finding to you when he's back from Brass but I wanted to tell you"

"Why?" Sofia lets out, referring to many things at once. Why did she want to tell her? Why Brass? Why wasn't she the shooter when she was so sure it had been her?

Sara responds to a lot of those questions, telling her what happened, what they found out, how they were sure Sofia was absolutely uninvolved in the death of Officer Bell.

In the end, Sofia is still left to wonder why Sara was the one to bring the news, why she is suddenly showing concern, why she's holding her hand and looking at her the way only a friend would, or maybe a mother, a sister, a lover.

"I'm sorry." she almost doesn't recognize the words. They are whispred in a tone so unlike Sara, Sofia thinks she's imagining them. "When you came to Grissom, I didn't mean to be rude to you, belive it or not, I was trying to give advice to you. It didn't sound that way, I know. And then you snapped at me, about not having friends, and that hurt. So I thought, maybe that is what you need now, what we both need, a friend I mean."

Sara leaves the sentence hanging in the air, heavy between them. Surprise is written all over the detective, she's never heard Sara talk so much at once, unless of course it was case related information. She's never known her to reach out to people, either. She's always been the quiet one, appearantly not wanting friendships, she'd brushed Sofia off on more than one occasion in the past. And now that sudden change?

"It's okay, if you don't want to." she speaks again, obviously taking the long silence for a rejection. "I just thought...I wanted to see how you were doing...never mind, you got Eleanor after all, right?" She smiles awkwardly, ready to get up when a hand on her arm stops her.

"Wait, stay." Sofia wonders where the words come from but she doesn'r really try to stop them. "You're right, I could really do with a friend. I..." She's interrupted by the phone ringing.

"Sorry" she directs at her companion before answering. It's Ortega telling her to drop by his office. She doesn't ask for a reason, for she already knows.

It's only a few seconds after she got up that she sits back down on her sofa next to Sara. "Ortega." she smiles by way of explaining, only to have the brunette nod. "Um...I guess, since you made a start I should apologize as well, I was out of line when I snapped at you, I was..." "desperate" Sara offers. "It's ok, no need for excuses. I think we should just get over it"

"Ok," She states, confused but glad that Sara isn't making things complicated.

They're silent once more, both slightly unsure of the situation. You don't usually decide to just become friends over night. "I...I don't want to throw you out or anything but Ortega expects me in his office in a few..." It's not the best thing to say, but it's true. And she needs more time to get used to the idea of opening up to Sara.

"Alright," the other woman replies. "I'll go then, I'll see you, I guess." Sofia accompanies her to to the door, followed by the ever devoted cat.

"Thanks for stopping by" what more can she say?

"No problem," Sara smiles, friendly, something Sofia isn't used to from the brunette. "If there's anything I can do for you...you got my number, right?"

"Yeah." she smiles, "Got it."

"Ok, then, good luck with Ortega, and don't worry" There's so many things she would like to tell Sofia, still a lot unsaid, but she won't push, it's not like her. She knows when she's asked to leave. So she turns, throwing a "bye" and a half smile over her shoulder and watches from the corner of her eyes how Sofia picks up the cat and closes the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Cradling the cat to her chest for a few moments, Sofia takes the time to sort out what has transpired just minutes ago. Shaking her head she dismisses the unexpected visit for later analysis and walks into her bedroom to change before she leaves home to meet Ortega down at the station.

The meeting goes as expected, all protocol. He hands her back her gun and badge, telling her she's been cleared to go back to work. Just like that. As if they hadn't just lost a fellow officer.

''Thank you'' she sais as she takes her stuff and leaves.

She should be feeling better now, or shoudn't she? Her worries and fears not confirmed. She's been cleared, got her job back. She hasn't killed Bell. And still, he's dead. That's nothing to be relieved about, let alone happy or satisfied.

Head hung low she trots out of the building. People still look at her strangely, obviously word hasn't gotten aound yet. She doesn't mind them for now, they will hear about it sooner or later.

When she is finally buckled up in her car, shielded from her colleague's eyes, she retrieves her badge and stares at it.

She remembers how it had felt to hold it in her hands for the first time, a sense of pride and strength radiating from it. Officially being a member of the force. She had felt powerful.

Now it was just a name tag. ''Det. Sofia Curtis'' she reads her name. Detective. That allows her, no, obliges her to carry a loaded weapon. A dangerous device that is thought to protect her own life and that of others yet at the same time can take an innocent life in a matter of split seconds.

''Detective Sofia Curtis'' she speaks out loud. What good has she done as a detective, she wonders. Sure she has arrested a bunch of filthy perps, violent, dangerous people. But the damage has always been done, they've already murdered, raped, hurt.

She sighs, wanting, needing to push these thoughts away. They were not the reason she became a cop. She desperately tries to remember what those reasons were, though. She can't remember, can't believe in them right now. Not until she understands what has happened and why she couldn't do anything to prevent it.

She makes up her mind, starts the car and drives to a place she never wanted to be reminded of again, a place she wanted to erase from her memory.

Making her way through the relatively deserted streets she arrives at the former crimescene. The only thing reminding of what happened here days ago is the remnants of crime scene tape flying in the light breeze of the morning.

Images flash back to her. The suspect running, shots ringing through the air. Bell rising.

This time when he's shot it isn't her bullet. But the pain on his face, the fear, his death- is real.

She watches the movie play in her mind for another several times before she has totally convinced herself that it is true, she has not killed the officer. Another several times, just to give justice to the fallen man, to make sure his death will never be forgotten.

She wipes the lonely tears from her cheeks and after a deep breath starts the car to head back home.


	7. Chapter 7

When she pulls up in front of her building she is surprised to see a familiar figure sitting on the landing. Approaching the man, lost in his thoughts, she startles him when she reaches for his shoulder.

"Hey" she smiles.

"Sofia, hey" Grissom looks up at her, not saying any more.

She wonders what brought him to her place, wonders what he has to say. However she isn't sure she's in the mood to talk to him now, or ever. She doesn't want to invite him in, then again she feels bad about dismissing him, who knows how long he's been waiting for her already.

When he gives no sign of wanting to get up she lets herself slump down beside him, joining him in his silent contemplation for a while.

Finally he gathers his thoughts and begins to speak.

"I'm glad it wasn't your bullet." He states out of nowhere. Sofia doesn't know how to react. _"Me too"_ seems too trite, and it would imply that she's glad it was Brass who shot Bell, what again would mean she was glad the young man had lost his life.

So in the end she leaves it at a simple nod, then waits if there is more the gray haired man has to say.

Minutes pass is silence, neither uneasy nor comfortable, just plain silence. It's something they can both deal with, at least for a while. When Sofia is sure that her friend is not about to say anymore she gingerly makes it known to him that she might have a few things to do before going back on duty.

And she has to iron her uniform for the fallen officer's service.

She is not explicitly sending Grissom away, but he is getting the hint and moves to stand. Unsure of how to part he regards her for another moment before finally Sofia pulls him into a stiff embrace, thanking him for coming, if in all honesty there is nothing to thank him for. But at least, she argues, he has bothered to drop by.

Releasing him she is relieved when she can enter her home and close the door behind herself.

It was no lie when she told him she had things to do, even though she'd have had some time to spare for him, his silent treatment would have done her no good.


	8. Chapter 8

A good ten minutes of staring at her reflection in the mirror until Sofia straightens her uniform and takes a deep breath. When she is finally content with her appearance she grabs her keys and exits the building.

The memorial service for Officer Bell is not really any different than those of other policemen Sofia has attended is the past, still, something about this one is standing out. She can't place it, it's not like she has ever been close to Bell, she barely knew him in fact. He isn't the first she watched dying, either, she has been witness to the death of few.

What is more, she knows that she is not responsible for the fact that he is now lying in a wooden case, the American flag draped across it, motionless, lifeless and cold instead of standing with his daughter and wife -where he belongs.

Sofia has finally accepted that there was nothing she could have done differently in order to prevent his tragic death. And still, she has this strange feeling inside of her, like her stomach is in knots.

Seeing the little girl, a white rose in her hand, knowing but not yet understanding that this is a farewell for ever, is breaking the detective's heart. Just considering that it might have been her fault makes her want to throw up.

But she doesn't. Just silently follows the ceremony, watches the weeping family and mourning friends.

Watches as the casket is lowered into the ground.

Watches as the wife shies away from the comfort offering touches, trying her hardest not to fall apart.

And she watches a gray haired man, standing stiffly, several feet away, head lowered.

The captain, friend, she has so much respect for, suffering under the pressure of his own guilt. She feels the urge to move over to where he stands but doesn't want to interfere with the ceremony by crossing the crowd of funeral guests.

So it's not before they are back in the officer's house, and she sees him again, entering the room decorated with family pictures, surrounded by uniformed officers who avoid him, that she feels the need to approach him.

When she steps up to him she is tentative, weighs her words carefully before finally speaking.

"Jim, I was just on my way out, but if you want me to stay..." It's all she can do, offer support just like she has received from him mere days ago.

"No, I...I think I can handle it." He tells her, not ready for comfort, even if that is what he is craving for on the inside. " I think." he adds then, " Thanks." He gives her a sad smile, grateful that she, contrary to the rest of his colleagues, is willing to console him.

Sofia understands, he is going through the same emotions she has experienced, with the difference being that he knows for sure about the weight of his guilt. Eying him once more she finally says "Okay.", then turns to leave, hoping that he will be alright -eventually.

A bitter sense of relief washes over her when she steps out of the house and into the sun. She breathes in the clear warm air and makes her way back to the car park.

Tonight she will be back on duty. It's a thought that still slightly scares her. Retrieving her phone she makes a decision: She can't spent the afternoon to herself, she needs a diversion so she can start her shift with a clear head. Feeling apprehensive she calls a number she hasn't often dialled before.


	9. Chapter 9

"Hey, its Sofia, you still up for that friendship offer?" she nervously blurts out into the phone, smiling when the voice on the other side replies with a slightly irritated "Um, yes. Sure."

"Good." Sofia smiles in relief, then takes a deep breath before asking, "So, ah...would you like to spend some time with me? I could use company." she is playing with her keys. It's not often Sofia admits weakness.

"Yeah, I'd like that, just give me a few minutes, then I can come over." Hearing those words makes her release a breath she didn't realize she's been holding.

"Ok, thanks. But actually, I'd rather meet somewhere else, I've spent too much time in my apartment lately, I need a change of scenery."

"As you mean, just name the place and I'll meet you there." Sofia smiles.

Half an hour later, after a quick stop at home to get changed, Sofia walks into a small café. She's never been there before but she trusts Sara's word that it's nice. A fact that is confirmed to her as soon as she crosses the threshold into the homely atmosphere of the remote place.

Immediately feeling relaxed she makes her way over to a table in the corner where a smiling woman is already waiting for her.

"Hey" she is greeted when she slides into the booth. "Hey" is what she answers.

"I already ordered coffee, hope that's ok..." "Sure."

This friendship thing is obviously taking time, they discover. "I'd have preferred beer though." She jokes and thereby succeeds in lightening the mood. They both crack smiles.

"So, you're back to work tonight?" Sara asks as if she didn't know. "Hmm, yeah. Been cleared." Sofia replies absentmindedly. Sensing the unease in the detective's posture Sara refrains from deepening the topic, instead searches for something else to converse about.

"So," she starts, "I've been wondering, where did Eleanor come from?" "Huh?" Sofia eloquently mutters as she is pulled from her thoughts that once again threaten to drift back into unsafe territory.

"Eleanor, your cat. I was just curious how you came up with that name." Sara explains, with a hint of intrigue and a bit of amusement at Sofia's far away state of mind.

"Oh, that." she finally answers, "I, uh, named her after one of my favorite singers, Eleanor McEvoy." At the look of interest on her companion's face she continues, "She's an Irish singer, little melancholic at times but sometimes that's just what I need." Sara nods. "Never heard of her, but she must be good if you name your pet after her." Sofia blushes, suddenly finding the action a little silly. "Yeah," she mumbles, already searching her mind for a question to ask the other women, something to divert the attention from herself. After all, friendship is a two-way road.

"So, now you know my cat, my taste in music and you've seen my apartment. Time to turn the tables." Expectantly she eyes Sara, momentarily afraid that she's pressuring her. For a fleeting second Sara's expression equals one of fright but then she smiles. Sofia doesn't analyze it, lets it slide, at least for the moment. She truly wants to get to know the woman, so she starts with a question of her own.

One question leads to another and before they know it hours have passed in first faltering, then flowing and eventually animated conversation. Inwardly Sofia smiles. The more she learns about Sara, the more time they spend talking, the more intrigued she is by the dark haired woman.

She would have never thought they'd get along so well.

She would have never believed they could so easily open up to one another.

Certainly, she would have never thought she would so quickly connect to the stubborn, distanced, often times uptight and absolutely serious Sara Sidle. Yet here she sits, being proven differently. By one very open, friendly and humorous person who looks acts and talks just like the Sara she knows.

"Earth to Sofia, are you still with me?" the smooth voice of her opposite breaks into her thoughts. "Hmm, yeah. Sorry." She shakes her head. "Just zoned out there for a minute." "Or Two." Sara jokingly adds and she shrugs, "Or two" she repeats smirking.

When the waitress comes by to ask whether they'd like another refill of their coffee they suddenly both realize the time. Sofia asks for the tab, unwilling to put an end to their afternoon but aware that they cannot stay in this place forever, however comfortable and welcoming it may be.

Reluctantly they decide to part for the day.

"We should do this again, it was fun." Matching smiles. "Definitely."

"My car's the other way down, I, uh..." Sara gestures down the street, "Might just see you tonight."

"Yeah, it'd be nice." The smile now a constant fixture on her face, something unthinkable until a few hours ago, with everything that happened to her recently. But she's grateful, almost happy.

She waves through the window of her car, thinking it's a peculiarly silly action, yet she's unable to hold it back.

The woman walking away from her has helped her get her mind cleared. Or almost cleared, as now it's occupied with different matters. On top of it the question, what exactly is that thing growing between her and her colleague, -friend, she corrects herself.

Whatever it is, it drove away her anxiety of what the shift might bring. Instead she feels a different kind of nervous now, a positive kind to be true.

She knows things will look up, she has a friend in Sara, or maybe, she dares to picture it for a while, maybe something stronger than that. Whichever way it will go, she is sure of one thing: She is strong, she survived and she is ready. Ready to face the world and come back.

* * *

The End. At least for now. 


End file.
